Little Irish Belle
by Purple Rhapsody
Summary: A background story on how Cal fell into Rose's life. Three parts. Complete
1. Part One

**Little Irish Belle**

**Summary: A background story on how Cal fell into Rose's life. Three parts.**

**--**

_**Part i**_

Almost every day there is some vile adult that comes up to me and congratulates me on how lucky I am to live this life--the parties, the clothes, the fiancée-- but I would give it all away now if he would just come back to me. No, I was never in love. I am not talking about a silly schoolboy or forbidden love or anything of that romantic sort. I am talking about my father.

My father--the one person who truly understood me. All the spirit and bravery that I have now it all due to the lessons that he taught me. I try so hard to please him. If I ever do anything that I think might disappoint him, I drop everything--and I mean everything-- that I'm doing and I run to the church to pray for his soul: to pray because I have sinned and kept his memory in vain. I am always forgiven, of course; with my last name anyone would forgive me.

My father was one of the richest men in all of England. He was the savviest businessman that I had ever met, and he sure knew how to strike up a deal. His name was Ryan--he named me after his own first initial. I once told him that I thought that if I were a boy it would certainly make things easier for him. I mean, he could officially name him Ryan and not have to settle for a Rose, and he could have someone to inherit the family business. But he never listened to my talk.

"You're such a silly, darling," he would say, ruffling my namesake hair. "Don't you ever, _ever _think that I don't want you! That is completely untrue, I would not exchange you for a thousand boys!"

I was impressed. A thousand boys? That statement really made an impact on me. From then on I always came to him first for anything, even if it was a girl-thing that daughters usually talk about with their mothers. I knew he would understand—he was my father. My silly mother didn't care about anything but her fancy gowns and impractical hats and who knows what else.

Daddy also had a nickname for me. He called me his Little Irish Belle. Oh, how I thrilled to hear him utter those words in times of praise!

"Good job, my Little Irish Belle!" he would exclaim. No one else would beam as wide as I did at that moment. He also wouldn't retire in the evening until he had "kissed his Little Irish Belle goodnight."

Then, at about eleven, I stopped coming to both of them for my diminutive problems. They would keep me up at night, yelling and screaming at each other until dawn. Well, mostly mother was doing the screaming part. Daddy would never raise his voice, unless I criticized myself or put myself down. I could only hear in lapses: "…money, Ryan, money!…what do you mean, low?…I'm trying my hardest, Ruth…well, that's not good enough…disgrace to your company…"

I never understood what they were talking about. When I asked him about it, he would assure me that nothing was wrong. I wanted to believe him, but something at the back of my mind was telling me otherwise. It said that I shouldn't believe him; that he was lying.

I pushed that voice away, however, and went with the easier route. The less painful route—the deception. He never suspected that I suspected, and after a year the arguments seemed to disintegrate completely. I was satisfied.

Yet on February 9th, 1907, the year I turned twelve, everything changed. I woke up to my mother and her hysterical crying. I didn't understand in the least. I thought that she was just annoyed at her tailor or mad at the cook or something again. Oh, how wrong I was.

Delilah, my personal servant, came to investigate me when she heard the noise. She knew what was the matter, and her number one goal was to make sure that I didn't find out. I wanted to pull those words out of her mouth like a pair of pliers.

"Delilah, why ever is Mother crying?" I asked. She looked nervous as if she had something to hide; but I had just woken up so I couldn't tell very much in my groggy state.

"Oh, she ruined her morning robe," she lied. I may have been tired, but my normally sharp senses were nevertheless alert.

"Stop lying at once!" I commanded. "Falsehoods will get you nowhere. Fetch my father, maybe he will tell me what's wrong!" I exclaimed. As soon as I had mentioned Papa her face went white. Hmm, that's strange! I had not time to ponder, however, because at that second all I wanted were answers.

Instead of obeying my commands as a loyal servant ought, she just up and walked out of the room. I was shocked—how dare she leave without responding! Wait until I tell father what she did…

I jumped up, pulled my morning robe overtop my night attire, and hopped out of bed. I marched over to the direction of my father's office, but stopped in my tracks when I saw blue-uniformed officers standing in the foyer. Maybe he knew what the heck was going on.

"Excuse me?" I asked, my embarrassment of lack of proper clothes overpowered by my hungry curiosity, "but why are you here?" The man looked at my sympathetically and said nothing. I didn't understand.

I didn't understand any more when another man in the same outfit appeared, and started to lead me into the parlor where my mother was currently settled.

"Miss Rose," he started. "My name is Charlie Stevenson. I am with the police, and we regret to inform you that your father will not be returning to you." I just sat there for a moment. What did he mean?

"He is, well, he's passed," the officer tried to explain. But I was still in the dark.

"Passed what?" I asked. The man sighed.

"Rose, this morning when your father went to his office, he keeled over. A very kind civilian brought him to the nearest hospital, where unfortunately he died from a heart attack. The proper funeral arrangements will be made in due time, of course." The last statement was directed at my mother, and she nodded quietly, the shock of hearing the true realization of our loss being uttered from the lips of an outsider seemed to throw her into a severe state of shock.

My mouth suddenly went dry. I felt like fainting, but I couldn't. I needed to hear what was going to happen next; I had to be strong because I knew that Mother couldn't be.

"Who was the civilian?" were the next words released by none other than myself. I wanted to know the identity of the person who saw my father in his last few minutes of life.

"He identified himself as Caledon Hockley, Miss," the officer replied. My mother suddenly switched into Proper mode again.

"Give us the information on how to contact this man," she said to Officer Stevenson. He snapped his fingers and the other man—the one who wouldn't talk to me not minutes earlier-- came rushing into the room.

"Yes, sir?" he said. "You summoned?"

"Find out how these two ladies can get in touch with Mr. Caledon Hockley, as soon as possible," Stevenson ordered. He nodded briskly and set about his task, using the telephone in the kitchen to follow out his assignment. I sat there, still unbelieving. This was all surreal—surely it wasn't really happening.

But I knew that the correct answer was that it was happening. And there was nothing I could do to stop it. Father wasn't coming back; he would never be here anymore. He could never listen to my problems, or encourage me, or help me in times that I needed most…which was now…

The men stayed well into the afternoon, finalizing every tantalizing detail. Every so often I would interject with my opinion, and I was listened to wholeheartedly. That's the power of a good name, backed up with money. They left soon before we dined for lunch, although I knew that no one in our household would be eating today. But before they departed, they shoved a piece of paper in my hand.

_Caledon Hockley Contact Information for the Dewitt Bukaters. _

_--_

Three days later the funeral took place. Hardly anyone I knew was there, all of Daddy's business friends and colleagues who all patted my heads and said that they were sorry for my loss.

Mother and I, of course, wore black. I wanted to wear a red bow, because it was Daddy's favorite color. But as soon as Mother saw it on my head she almost fainted.

"Rose, my God, it's a funeral! Have you no respect for your dear, dear father?" she cried in false distress. I just rolled my eyes and obeyed her, removing the ribbon from my hair. I could sense a weight being lifted off of her shoulders at my actions. How stupid, getting worked up over a ridiculous bow. Mother was so asinine at times; it was quite hard for me to bear it. But I knew that Father would have wanted me to be patient, so I persisted and endured many a lecture.

The funeral actually took place at Saint Paul's Church of Worship. Father Edwards, the pastor, pretty much arranged the whole thing when he saw what a horrid state Mother had been in a couple days ago. We were incredibly grateful for his services.

The prayers started, and Father Edwards urged everyone to sit down immediately, we could see the body after the service. That sounded really awkward--seeing the body. There was nothing more horrific in my adolescence than viewing my father's unmoving body for the last time. Mother wasn't going to do a eulogy, of course, she was too distraught to think clearly and make the proper preparations—or so she said. I watched my various aunts and uncles make speeches, and then a couple of Father's business partners and executives and such.

"Would the immediate family like to say a few words?" asked Father Edwards after they had finished. Mother immediately pushed me up out of my seat.

"Go say something, Rose!" she commanded. I gave her a look that said plainly "not on your life!" But she clenched her jaw and whispered something about how everyone would expect it. The whole room was staring at me at that point, and I figured that I might as well just do it anyway.

On my way to the front of the church, I happened to pass a window that was not painted with stained glass. It was pouring and hazy out, which was ironic for such a melancholic day as it was. Dark and gloomy—just like the occasion.

I took a deep breath.

"Hello, my name is Rose," I began. "I am the only child of Ryan Dewitt Bukater, and I speak for myself and my mother in saying how sorely he will be missed. He was a great comfort to me, and I loved him so incredibly much. I still do. I don't think that anyone ever stops loving their parents." Here I had to pause to wipe away the wet tears that had started flowing down my face.

"And…I just wanted to say how grateful we are to so many people in this room, and that I'm sure Father is watching us from Heaven and smiling down on us. He wouldn't want us to be miserable—but that's not always good enough to stop the feeling…" I trailed off, muttering incoherent sentences until I finally stopped and looked at the pairs of eyes that were staring at me. Suddenly, it was suffocating in here. I had to get out—I had to run—I had to…

Without thinking, I bolted to the church entrance. I sat on the front steps, crying, and left the funeral behind. I sat there in the pouring rain; letting the drops mix with my tears until I was soaking wet all over. I stayed out there until it ended, bawling and sobbing and wishing that Father were there to comfort me. My mother was the first one out the door.

"Rose!" she hissed. "How dare you! How dare you make such an uncalled-for scene! Stop your blubbering and tears; they only ruin your complexion! Oh, your face is so red! You know that's not good; it looks positively horrific with your hair…" She continued to yell about how stupid my manner was, until people began to evacuate the church and she had to pretend to be all caring towards me. I tried to shrug her off, but she had an iron grip on my arm.

"We are leaving," she ordered, and dragged me into the carriage that had just pulled up. I didn't care about getting the seat wet; the exterior was drenched, so what would it matter to the interior?

As we were leaving, I barely made out a figure in the rain. Between drops, I spotted a man walking while another one ran up to him.

"Mr. Hockley!" the pursuer yelled. So this was the man that had been with Father in his last moments. I spun around in my position, watching him until the distance and the rain blocked him from view.

Mother never even gave me a chance to say my last goodbyes to Father.

--

**Well, did you like it? Am I being inaccurate? Was the flow okay, or was it confusing? I tried to make it less confusing, but I don't know how good a job I did. Review, please!**


	2. Part Two

**A/N- Thank you to my two reviewers! I just wanted to point out that in the middle of this chapter Rose ages to sixteen and the setting changes, so it might behoove some people to read the heading of the letter to make it less confusing. Enjoy!**

**--**

_**Part ii**_

"Oh, Rose, you know that orange is a morbid color," said my mother, referring to the scarf that I had tied around my neck. "Honestly, must your servants dress you for everything?"

I said nothing, almost a month after Father's death and we were feasting with the Hockley's. When my mother realized that Nathan Hockley was Caledon's father (a major steel tycoon who made thousands upon thousands a year) she absolutely begged him to come over and meet the grateful family who is forever in debt to his services. I was sort of neutral on the topic, seeing as how father is more important to me than the Hockley's.

I kept the scarf on in defiance, however; and Mother didn't protest after she realized that it was a lost battle.

"Rose, are you ready?" she asked. I sighed.

"Yes, Mother, I am—I refuse to comprehend why you are fussing so--" but I was quickly hushed by her as we heard the chime of the doorbell ring.

"It's them," she whispered softly. Well, who else would it be? Mother was irritating me to no end lately; being pushed so close to the edge again strained our not-so-wonderful Mother/Daughter relationship even further.

"May I take your hats, sirs?" Delilah asked. I heard them shuffle about in the foyer, waiting for their hostesses to come down. My mother went first, of course, prancing down the long flight of stairs overdramatically. I followed a minute or so after; I didn't want to seem impressionable.

"So sorry for your loss, truly, we are," said the older man who I only assumed was Nathan Hockley. He shook my mother's hand, and then he came to me, sympathy in his eyes; and something else that I couldn't put my finger on.

"Hello, you must be Rose. I'm Caledon Hockley, you may call me Cal," I looked up into the most gorgeous pair of eyes that I had ever seen—up until that point at least. I took the hand that he held out for me and shook it perhaps a little too long. Then I realized that the polite thing would be to respond to him.

"Okay, Cal, you may call me Rose," I said. But as soon as my words were uttered I kicked myself. He already called me Rose, idiot!

"Well, Rose, I am terribly sorry about your father. Even in his last moments he went down like a gentleman; I established some real respect for that man," he stated smoothly.

"Thank you," I said modestly. While Mother started to usher the two men into the dining room, I took a few moments to thoroughly observe them. They looked very much alike-not quite short, but I've seen taller. They both had those same enticing eyes, although it was far more attractive on the younger Hockley, who seemed to be everything his father is and more. Charming, handsome, certainly, quite handsome. He also had a sort of cool disposition, which impressed me far more than the buckets of money that impressed Mother.

We were situated in the table as follows: Each Hockley on one end of the table in the fancier chairs, and then Mother and I in the remaining middle seats. I was glad that I didn't have the pressure of sitting next to someone directly.

Appetizers and drinks were promptly brought out, of course—wine for the elders and some fancy water for me. I couldn't wait until I was of the age to have full glasses of wine; right now Mother only allowed me tiny sips.

"I don't water my daughter getting intoxicated!" she exclaimed every time I mentioned it. I would just roll my eyes and go back to sipping my water.

"Well, Ruth, may I call you Ruth?" the elder Hockley asked, bringing me back from my thoughts. Mother twittered a silly laugh playfully.

"But of course you can, Mr. Hockley!" she said.

"Okay, Ruth, but I insist that you call me Nathan, it seems like a business discussion when you refer to Hockley, and business this most certainly is not!"

"It's pleasure, of course," said Cal, smiling at me kindly. I smiled back.

"So, Cal, where did you attend school when you were of age?" Mother asked. Quite the appropriate question; she does have a way with those.

"Oh, well I attended regular grammar school here in the states, near Philadelphia," he responded.

"Is that where you grew up?" Mother questioned. His expression changed to that of a pained one for a second and then it resumed its welcoming stance.

"No. I was born there, but Father sent me to France to live with an old aunt while my mother was ill until I was five. Then I returned here and attended school until I was about your age, Rose. After that, it was off to another special school in England," he explained.

"Oh, and which one did you go to, Cal? I was looking for a good finishing school for Rose, might you have any suggestions?" I exhaled noisily and Mother ignored my obvious annoyance at the question.

"Well, ma'am, I would have to say…" and so it continued until appetizers were over. The only time that I actually paid the slightest attention is when Cal was speaking. He was such a smart and educated person. His father was as well, of course, but not nearly as charismatic.

"Something smells enticing…" teased the elder guest. Sure enough, alluring whiffs were being drifted from the kitchen and into the room.

"A special house favorite!" Mother said with pride.

Flambéed salmon, of course, with basil indulged in a steamy pepper sauce—Father's favorite dish. How dare the chef cook something that brought back so many painful memories!

"Quite excellent, Ruth, give my appreciations to the cook!" Nathan exclaimed. Mother gave a polite smile.

"I'll be sure and tell her you said so."

"It was Father's favorite food," I muttered softly. Everyone looked at me.

"I'm sorry, Rose, I know how hard this must be for you," Cal started, "I lost my mother when I was seven. The ache never does quite go away." After he uttered that statement, I looked at him with completely different eyes. Such a perfect man, yet he went through all the trouble that I, myself am going through now? That clinched it; Cal was officially my new role model.

Dinner went smoothly of course, but unfortunately I couldn't remember a thing. All I remember was Cal's voice and strong interjections of opinion, mixed with his understanding stance and expression…

After that night, everything turned BC for me. Before Cal.

--

_**Gilda Martin's Finishing School, England**_

_March 10th, 1911 _

_Dear Mother,_

_School is quite fine; my teachers are splendid. I have made many friends, a few being Stacey Richmond and Patricia Cobb, whose parents we used to dine with. You remember Caledon Hockley, of course? How could you forget? Well, I ran into him today in the lobby of my school! I was quite shocked to see him so unexpected like that, and I nearly bowled into him. I introduced myself and he remembered me as well; we had an interesting conversation. I won't go into all the details, as he is picking me up in five minutes. I wanted to inform you of my going-ons, and I hope that you are in good health._

_Your daughter,_

_Rose_

I had to be the ever-dutiful sixteen-year-old daughter and write home to my mother constantly. It was expected, no questions asked. Anyway, as my letter dictated, I ran into Cal today. It was ever the surprise, and we immediately struck up a conversation. He was here on account that the headmaster is a friend of his father's.

I heard a knock on the door. That must be him! I quickly scurried to open the door—but not too fast, like Mother always instructed. Always keep them waiting for a little while to show that they are not your top priority. Never want to look too eager! I opened the door slowly and demurely.

"Hello, Mr. Hockley," I said. He looked at me kindly and took my arm.

"Please, Rose, keep calling me Cal; just because I am your new suitor doesn't mean that you should address me differently!" Wow. He wasted no time establishing how he stood in the system of things. Steady male companion already?

"So, Cal, where might we be going?" I asked.

"Well, I thought that a stroll in the park around the block might fit the requirements," he said.

"Well, I agree wholeheartedly, but I remind you that I absolutely must be back by eight. Miss Martin's orders." He chuckled.

"I think that can be arranged," he said, and off we went. William's Park was a very popular place for the local schoolchildren such as myself to lounge around in a quiet atmosphere. There was a moment of silence between us.

But I took a deep breath; I needed to ask something that was on my mind.

"Cal? When you were over for dinner, I forgot to ask you. What were Father's last words?" My companion looked startled for a moment, but quickly regained composure.

"Well, if my memory serves me…he said…I don't know how much sense this will make, because it was only moments before he passed, but he said something about kissing his Little Irish Belle goodnight…"

I sucked in my breath. That was I! I felt tears spring to my eyes, but I wouldn't let myself cry in front of Caledon Hockley.

"It was you, wasn't it?" he asked softly, completely reading my mind. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. "You were his Irish Belle?"

"I was," I almost whispered. But Cal just took me in his arms and hugged me—right there in the middle of the sidewalk. He kissed the top of my head calmly. I hastily realized that I should change the subject from painful memories to something more cheerful. I blinked away my tears and regained control.

So for the next hour or two, we discussed idle topics and the latest trends and compared and contrasted everything. He was so intelligent; striking up a conversation was such fun. But I knew that the evening had to end somehow, and he walked me back to my room.

"Goodnight my Little Irish Belle," he murmured, and brought my hand up to his lips and kissed it.

"Goodnight," I said, closing the door. I retired soon after, looking forward to tomorrow's encounter with Cal.

--

**Thank you for reading! What did you think of Part Two?**


	3. Part Three

**This is the last part! I decided to end it right before they go on Titanic, because y'all already know what happens after that!**

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_**Part iii**_

Cal and I saw each other quite frequently over the next few months. On the fifth month, August, he scheduled a special dinner for us.

"Rose, darling, I need to talk to you," he had asked. We agreed to meet at Berta's Bistro. I was completely free; I had graduated my finishing school in May.

My carriage dropped me off promptly at six, the time that we'd arranged for. He was waiting for me outside in his new designer suit, leaning against the columns that were there.

"Hello, darling," he said, giving me a peck on the cheek.

"Hello, what do you want to say?" I asked, getting straight to the point. Patience had never been my virtue.

"My, aren't we ill-tempered!" he joked. "You know, I always said that redheads were short-tempered, Rose." I just gave him a playfully evil look. He ignored it and took my arm, escorting me into the quaint little restaurant. In under a minute we had placed our orders and were sipping imported water from France.

"Mother is talking about coming here to England soon," was how I started the conversation out.

"Oh, really?" he asked. "I'm glad it's soon."

"And why would that be?" I questioned. He smirked, marring his handsome face.

"I could think of a couple of reasons," he answered. Yet I remained in the dark.

"Which would be…" But he just stood up, and I thought that that was an awfully rude time to go to the facilities. But he didn't head off in that direction. Instead, he fiddled with something in his pocket and stood in front of me.

"Rose, I've known you for a long time. I barely knew you at twelve, and seeing the young, capable woman that you have blossomed into…" --oh, how romantic!-- "…I just have one question to ask you." He got down on one knee before me, and took my hand. I gasped, realizing what was coming next.

"Rose, will you marry me?" he asked, and I heard the ladies around me that were watching exchange stifled whispers. In no time, everyone in the restaurant was silent and looking at us expectantly. I couldn't possibly say no when I was in the limelight…I hadn't planned on it anyhow.

"Yes!" I told him joyfully, and he quickly pulled me into a hug while everyone clapped. People were really big on public drama, weren't they?

--

_**From the desk of Mr. Caledon Hockley**_

_August 10th, 1911_

_Dear Mother,_

_You will be thrilled to know that you are reading script penned by the future Mrs. Caledon Hockley! That's right, he proposed! I am so excited; you simply once come at once to make the proper preparations. Cal insists upon it. I hope that this has found you in renewed good spirits, and hope to hear from you soon. _

_Your daughter, _

_Rose_

Of course, upon receiving the letter my mother hired a planner and both hopped the next ship to England. It's not that I really wanted her here. But I had to have somebody to help me with this; men are helpless when planning big events.

Two days later, I was escorting Mother into my hotel suite. I didn't want to move in with Cal, how scandalous would that look? Besides, he's paying for my room anyway.

"Hello, Rose," she said, quite coldly I would venture to say. She and I have never seen eye to eye on anything; so she still holds a grudge for everything I've done that was wrong. Which, from her point of view, was a lot of things.

"Hello, Mother, so glad you could come," I replied, giving her a gentle hug—which she didn't return.

"This is Mr. Aiker, he will be helping you with your wedding," she said brightly, now that the subject of marriage was being discussed.

"How do you do," I said politely, shaking the gentleman's hand.

"So pleased to hear the good news," he said in a nasally voice filled with false caring. "I congratulate both you and your future husband."

"Thank you," I said modestly, hoping that Cal would get here soon. True to my wishes, he arrived not ten minutes later. He tromped through the door carrying something that he promptly stuffed in the closet.

"Ruth!" he said enthusiastically, embracing my mother and kissing her hand. "After all these years, how nice to see you again!" My mother absolutely adored him; he was like the son she never had. Of course, now technically he was going to be her son; which accounted for the bright beam on her face. I had never seen my mother beam before in my life, certainly not when Father was around.

I escorted my guests into the parlor and urged them to make themselves comfortable. We discussed many a plan that afternoon, but my mind completely left the room. I wonder why I wasn't so excited to arrange my own wedding? That thought made me feel guilty, however, so I pushed it to the back of my mind.

"How about you, Rose, what color do you think?" I had not been paying attention in the slightest, so I just uttered the first words that came to my lips.

"Lavender," I said. Any shade of purple was my favorite color. But my mother immediately scrunched up her nose in a most unbecoming manner.

"Lavender?" she spit back. "What a grotesque color! Are you quite sure?"

"Quite," I affirmed, and that was the end of that. Mother and Mr. Aiker left soon after; they each rented a suite below me.

One thing that was never quite off my mind after I had accepted Cal's proposal was the matter of who would walk me down the aisle. But I shoved that thought aside and tried to concentrate on something else.

--

"Rose, as you know, my father is quite famous for throwing parties," Cal began once we were alone. "He is planning a charity banquet tomorrow, and I was wondering if it is notice enough for you to go with me. And of course, your mother will join us as well!"

Mother? Won't she be thrilled to be right in the middle of English society.

"Of course I'll go with you darling," I said absentmindedly.

"Good, because my father already bought you a dress," he said with a toss of his head, walking over to the door and pulling a bag out of the closet.

It was an incredibly beautiful dress, light orange silk with embroidered pearls and such opulence. But it didn't suit me; that particular shade of orange clashed with my hair. When I voiced my protest to Cal, he grabbed my by my arms and pulled me so I was mere inches away from his intimidating face.

"You will wear the dress and you will specifically point out to my father how much you _adore_ it, and stop being so incredibly unappreciative!" I was absolutely shocked at his tone. It was just a stupid dress; I couldn't see why he was making such a big deal about it. He realized that he still had a grasp on my arm, immediately threw me onto the couch like a discarded napkin, and walked out the door, muttering about how temperamental women were under his breath.

I quickly let out the long breath that I had been holding. Calling my maid, I ventured into my bedroom to try on the dress and its accessories so I would be completely ready for tomorrow.

--

Tomorrow came quicker than expected; I mean, I knew it had to get here eventually. Cal and I seemed a little tense due to our small riff yesterday, but none of us mentioned it. Off we went in my orange dress and a fiancé hanging from my arm.

The party—excuse me, banquet—was being given at a large mansion west of my hotel. A servant appeared to escort us out of the carriage and into the house. After all, we were the host's son and fiancée. Due to one of her "headaches," Mother was resting in bed at the hotel.

"Rose! How could to see you again!" said a voice that I hadn't heard in years; that of Cal's father.

"Mr. Hockley, and how might I find you on such a fine day?" I asked politely.

"Ah, I'm fine, dear. You simply must let Cal introduce you to everyone! What do you mean, Mr. Larson—oh, okay then…" and with that the elder Hockley was swept into the crowd of people, inspiring me to establish a firmer grasp on Cal's arm.

"Rose, this is Andrea and Nicholas Watts, Thomas Crawford and his friend Allison, and—ah! The lovely Miss Katherine…Kat, this is my fiancée Rose. Gosh, well I haven't seen you in years, either! Quite the coincidence, I must say…"

The woman that he referred to as Katherine was a very tall, stately woman with flowing raven hair, which must have looked much more elegant than my plain red hair.

"Hello," she said rather coldly, holding out her hand for me to shake. I followed suit, and added a,

"How do you do?" She didn't even bother to answer my polite inquiry; instead she looked at Cal.

"Mr. Hockley, you wouldn't mind if I tag along with you and your…lovely fiancée, would you? I barely know anyone here!" Cal shook his head.

"No, of course not, right Rose?" What could I do but nod in consent? Kat tagged along with us almost all night, which drove me crazy. Her twittering laugh sounded identical to Mother's. Good thing that Mother didn't join us, too, or she and Katherine would have been the best of friends and I would have to see Kat after tonight.

The party was a blur; it was just like all of its predecessors. Long, tedious, and boring.

"I'd love to come over tomorrow, Cal, thank you so much for the invitation!" What? She was going over to his house? Alone?

"Rose, darling, you wouldn't mind if Kat came over and took a look at my ancient sword collection, would you?"

Sword? SWORD? What kind of girl in her right mind, especially a prissy like Katherine, voluntarily accepts invitations to other people's mansions to view their ancient SWORD collection? Scheming girls, that's what.

It was then I realized that they were still waiting for an answer.

"Oh, not at all, I adore that collection, Cal, it represents the love of a good fight, a characteristic that I certainly possess. Share it with some other inexperienced soul while you still can," was my airy response. Kat grimaced, and Cal didn't even notice that something was wrong with my behavior. Were all men so unfortunate with their senses or is it just Cal?

"Rose, I think we better be heading out," he began, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards the direction of the door.

"See you tomorrow," he addressed Kat.

"I had such a pleasant time meeting you!" I shouted, slightly sarcastic. Well, I was completely sarcastic. But I only sounded slightly.

Somehow I knew that this was the beginning of us drifting apart…

--

The next few months passed slowly yet surely, the visit from Kat came and went and of course there were many more like it. The month of March came, and in like a lion it was.

"Rose," began my mother (who had moved into my hotel suite to conserve the money that she had spent frivolously on dresses and parties), "Guess what I have for you!" I was not in the mood for another designer label, so I pretended like I didn't hear her.

"Rose!" her shrill voice just got higher. "Cal bought us all tickets on Titanic!" Okay, there were so many things wrong with that sentence. Let's start with the first one.

Cal and I hardly spoke anymore. I had acquired a frothy disposition towards his behavior, quite altering our relationship; while I'm sure he in turn was unfaithful to me more than once. Oh, we both hid it, of course, not wanting to admit to the other; but there was a definitive wall that seemed to grow higher and higher day by day.

The second was covered in one inquiry.

"Titanic?" I asked. My mother looked at me in awe.

"You have not heard of the great ocean liner Titanic?" she asked. "The one deemed utterly unsinkable?"

"Mother, surely you jest. There is no such thing as unsinkable; ships are made from iron, and mass is an obvious property of iron, and so much pressure pulling on that iron could cause fluctuations--" But I was cut off by her shoving a newspaper in my face.

"Hush! Just read it, the Gazette, no less!"

"_White Star Line's Newest Spectacle, a "titanic" ship deemed Unsinkable!" _read the headline. The article went on to talk about the ship Titanic and its amazing sumptuousness, comfort, and versatility.

"And why do we need to board this certain ship, Mother?" I asked politely.

"Why, for your engagement gala in Philadelphia, of course!" she responded. What? No one mentioned this to me! Why am I always the last one to know these things? I couldn't even answer my mother from shock and anger all at once.

Instead of just classically arguing, like I normally would have done, I got up and walked out of the room and into my bedroom, sprawling on the bed in a most unladylike manner and bawled my eyes out. I was vaguely aware of the maid coming in and bringing me a cup of tea. What good would that do? What good would anything do? I could do nothing anymore; it all went over my head.

Cal had changed; he was not the man I once loved. Or did I ever love him? I think I just admired him. Kat never made me get the mandatory twinge of jealousy in my stomach. She just made me really annoyed. Same with Cal; I never loved him—I admired him. Love and admiration are not the same thing, no, not at all.

Ironically, Cal chose that moment to visit. I heard his voice from the hallway, and I quickly rushed in the bathroom to throw some cold water on my face and brush my hair up a bit. I had barely done so when my fiancé walked through the door of my bedroom.

"Rose, why are you crying? You'll mess up the imported silk pillows!" he exclaimed, referring to the plush objects that were slightly askew.

"Crying is the body's natural way to release and control sadness or anger," I said hotly.

"Crying is for lower class, Rose. We are by no means lower class!" That remark got me seething mad.

"Crying is by no means restricted to impoverished beings!" I protested. I saw a flash of anger radiate through Cal's eyes.

"A woman is supposed to agree with a man, no matter what!" he exclaimed. I rolled my eyes conspicuously. That set him off.

"Don't you DARE roll your eyes at me!" he yelled viciously. "You are my inferior, and therefore should be respected as such and nothing more. You hear me, Rose? NOTHING MORE!" He made move to strike me, but then realized what he was doing and backed down. I took the opportunity to interject my opinion.

"I don't think we should get married," I whispered softy. Cal's head immediately snapped up to where his hands had been cupping it.

"We are getting married. That is final." He thought that that would close the subject, but I was persistent.

"But we are no longer--" I was interrupted by his slamming his fists against the wall.

"Tarnation, Rose! Listen to yourself! Do you think that this is what your father would have wanted?" he sputtered, getting worked up.

"Don't you dare bring my father into this!" I said vehemently. But he ignored the warning.

"Who was with him in his last moments? Certainly not his daughter—but instead me. Caledon Hockley, to whom you owe your life!" he uttered dramatically.

"I don't owe you my life, I just owe you my thanks! You didn't save his life!" I screamed.

"But I can absolutely destroy yours," he threatened maliciously, pinning me to the wall. "What do you think, Rose, are you ready to give in?" he said, specifically fingering the diamond enclosed around my finger. I looked up into his eyes, silently giving my compromise.

"I thought so," he said; and with that, he left the room.

I realized at that moment that I would never escape Caledon Hockley. He was engraved in my fate, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Except pray.

_The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters……………_

_--_

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